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kemendin · 10 months

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Shattered Sanctum

So! As of this week, I have officially been writing what I’ve been calling Fortress Funtimes - pre-Echoes of Oblivion ‘current’ story with a large flashback segment to, you guessed it, Caspian’s experiences on the Emperor’s Fortress - for a whole year!

This thing is sitting at roughly 40k words right now, and is nowhere near done. Obviously I’ve been working on a lot of other, shorter stories in between, and there has been a lot of strugglebussing over FF, mainly because I’ve never tackled such a long and plot-heavy story before. I have no idea when I’ll cross the finish line on this one.

But - I’m honestly really proud that I’ve kept at it for a whole friggin year, folks! So I thought I’d post one of the earlier chapters as it stands now - not real spoilery except for the canon JK story, but it’s one of my favourites so far.

“By my master’s command - you must die.”

The Emperor’s sanctum sings with the sounds of battle as Lord Scourge, the Emperor’s Wrath, drives his scarlet lightsaber at the two Jedi Knights who, against all odds, have overcome the fortress’ defences to strike the final blow for victory.

Or so they think. They are, in fact, devastatingly mistaken.

One is a young woman, fair-skinned and with auburn hair that flares brighter whenever she dodges through a pool of stark red light. Kira Carsen, former Child of the Emperor - now broken free, yet still fresh in her role as a Knight.

She is eager, driven, and skilled, but she lacks experience, and it shows in the way she parries and thrusts with her blue-bladed saberstaff. She puts too much of herself into each strike, believing too fervently that she can win, must win, at any cost. It’s a common weakness of younger Jedi, particularly when facing Sith opponents, and Scourge knows how to use it against her. More than once he offers her an opening in his defences, and then sends her staggering back as she goes for the feint and is instantly repelled.

The other Jedi is only slightly older than Carsen, but he is proving himself a noteworthy combatant nonetheless. His green-gold blade has intercepted several strikes meant for his companion, as he puts himself between Carsen and the Sith like a challenge.

Caspian Serapis, the so-called Hero of Tython. By no means the most formidable duelist that the Wrath has ever faced, nor the strongest in the Force, and yet he stands apart. Scourge finds it curious that even here, before the Sith Emperor himself, he can detect no true sign of fear flashing within the Jedi’s pale eyes, or twisting at his dark-skinned face.

That face. Scourge had recognised it instantly on Quesh, with a jolt that wrenched him back across more than three centuries. Where once before he had drawn his lightsaber alongside two Jedi, and a throne room of the Emperor was shattered by a desperate bid to end Vitiate’s immortality.

They had failed. But within their failure, guided by the Force, Scourge had sown the seed of victory; and here, at last, he has the first taste of its fruit. His wait for the Jedi of his vision, so long ago, has not been in vain.

That Jedi strikes at him again, several deliberate blows that force Scourge into the reach of the other knight, who whirls her longer blade at the Wrath’s side. The two work well together: their relative inexperience is offset by the harmony of their movements, each complementing the other with practised coordination. She is swift; he is tenacious. But Scourge is quicker and more relentless than both, and he deflects Carsen’s attempt to impale him from behind, sending her saber scoring harmless across the edge of his cuirass. Almost in the same motion he swings his own blade at the other Jedi, a forceful blow that staggers Serapis and loses him the few paces he’d just gained on the Sith.

The battle has been going on for several minutes now, and tugging at the back of his brain, Scourge can sense his master’s thinning patience for the display. Moreover, he can feel the rest of the Jedi strike team closing in on their position. As expected, the alterations to the security grid had impeded their progress, just enough to allow Serapis and Carsen to reach the throne room alone. But now the time for stalling is at an end.

Scourge believes in the will of the Force, in the vision granted to him - just as Revan had believed, centuries ago. But he also believes in leaving little to chance. After three hundred years of biding his time, he’s not about to let it all unravel the instant he can sense the final goal within his grasp. He’s had a taste of his opponent, and he’s not been disappointed. Now Scourge must ensure that the Jedi’s destiny - and his own - are not brought to a premature end within the stronghold of their enemy.

With that in mind - it is time to shift the tide in favour of the Jedi.

The Sith lowers his guard, then, and allows the two young knights to press their attack, driving him slowly back towards his master’s throne. It’s a plausible turn in the battle; despite their shortcomings, the Jedi have held their own remarkably well against him, and have both managed to pierce his black armour at least once. With enough time, it’s entirely possible they might have overcome the Emperor’s Wrath by their own hands.

But time is not an asset that any of them, including the immortal Wrath, still possess.

Assaulted on both sides by the fierce-eyed Jedi, Scourge makes a show of succumbing to their onslaught at last. He keeps his focus on Serapis as their lightsabers flash and strobe in deadly reflections across the polished floor, now marred with the glowing scars of their fight. He feels Carsen dart in behind him again, trying to deal an incapacitating blow while his back is turned - and for an instant his pride reasserts itself. No, he snarls inwardly. There is now only one in this galaxy he will allow himself to submit to.

He snaps round, catching her blade with his own and twisting it away with enough momentum to send the weapon spinning out of her hands. Before she can recover he strikes at her with the Force, sending her tumbling away after her weapon. Her cry of surprise echoes through the cavernous chamber.

But he’s left himself vulnerable before Serapis, and an instant later pain sears through his body as the Jedi’s verdant blade plunges through one side of his armoured torso. Not a death blow - even fighting his way through the fortress, this Jedi in particular has seemed averse to killing - but it is more than enough to drop Scourge heavily to his knees, his own lightsaber falling from his hand.

The pain of the wound lances through him as he fights to catch his breath; a sweet, exquisite agony anchoring him to his flesh where usually there is only a void. He relishes it, he revels in it, even as he kneels and bows his head before the vision of his destiny.

“You’re beaten,” says Serapis flatly. The tip of his lightsaber hums warily near Scourge’s throat. “It’s over.”

No, Jedi, thinks Scourge. It has only begun.

The Sith lifts his head again, staring up impassively into the face that had, for a brief time, hovered every night in his dreams, before his dreams themselves were stripped away for good.

“You are nearly the Jedi’s finest,” he says calmly, and pauses for a fraction of an instant. “It is not enough to save you.”

“We’re not the ones who need saving.” Carsen has picked herself up and limped over to stand beside her fellow knight, taking a moment to kick Scourge’s lightsaber out of reach in a decidedly petty act of retaliation.

Serapis is breathing hard, his brow gleams with sweat, but otherwise he is still impressively controlled. “We’re here for your master, not his lapdog,” he tells Scourge tightly. “The others will be here in a moment. If you want to live, you won’t interfere.”

Scourge narrows his eyes, and his lip curls at the Jedi’s arrogance. That, he decides, is something they will have to work on.

“Even in defeating me, you haven’t earned an audience with him,” he replies softly. “Be careful what you wish for.”

But even as he says it, he senses his master’s presence stirring, casting a shadow through the sanctum. He watches as the other Jedi invaders arrive and rush through the door, only to draw up short, buffeted back by the sheer, overwhelming darkness of the Sith Emperor. Carsen shrinks back, her gaze wide. Only Serapis stands his ground, his face taut as he raises his eyes to the Emperor.

Good, thinks Scourge. He will need that resolve.

A dark figure unfolds itself from the throne suspended like a drop of blood on the precipice before the Jedi. The Emperor is a void, faceless and unfeeling, and yet his disdain radiates throughout the sanctum.

“Misdirected passion. Such a waste.” His voice is cold beyond measure - not the chill of ice, but the emptiness of the space between stars.

The leader of the Jedi team is a Kel Dor master who now pushes forward, struggling against the weight of the Emperor’s condescension. “It will not be a waste, if you cooperate,” he says. “Please accompany us to Tython.”

In that moment Scourge wishes he could remember how to laugh, because even with his life still held at saberpoint, the incredible audacity of this request - the ignorance - would have had him rolling on the floor.

“An infantile display, Tol Braga,” says the Emperor, his tone hollowed with contempt. “Reckless pride, limned by self-righteousness. You have been a fleeting amusement. Nothing more.”

“You’re wrong.” It is Serapis who speaks this time, lifting his chin in defiance. “We’ve done what no other Jedi could do. We’ve infiltrated your hidden fortress, broken through your defences, and defeated your Wrath.” He flourishes his lightsaber towards the Sith still knelt at his feet, his voice hard. “One way or another, we’ll bring an end to this. To you, and to the poison you spread throughout the galaxy.”

A fine speech, thinks Scourge, but that is all. Brazen words that hold no basis in the reality of this situation.

With the Jedi distracted by their futile attempts to negotiate, the Sith shifts lightly in place. He can feel the biochemical implants embedded in his body already at work, mending muscles and organs and skin where Serapis’ lightsaber had scarred him. In only a short time, he will be fit to fight again. But he doesn’t expect to need to. No, the Jedi, all of them, have already lost, and the pitiful part is - they can't even see it.

The Emperor leaps forward from his throne and descends to the metal platform below, bearing with him all the weight of a dying star. The impact of his feet hitting the floor sends ominous shudders through the throne room as his dark visage turns its weight upon Serapis.

“You mistake me for your own weak flesh. I do not end.”

He reaches out, grasping with one black-gloved hand. Serapis gasps suddenly from where he stands above Scourge, his eyes going wide and his grip on his lightsaber faltering.

“You stand there because I allow it. Because I do not fear. But now - now you will know nothing else.”

The Emperor’s words sound like a death knell through the chamber, and almost too abrupt to follow, Serapis is cast forcefully back. He slams into the polished floor and goes skidding away, coming to rest at the feet of his fellow Jedi.

“Cas!” cries Carsen, and she rushes recklessly towards the Emperor, only to be thrown after the other knight.

Scourge drapes an arm casually across his knee as he watches the other Jedi igniting their lightsabers, watches Serapis and Carsen pulling themselves to their feet. Admirable of them to keep trying, but too little, too late. He already knows how this will end. He knew before they even set foot within the fortress. They are not the first to have foolishly made this attempt.

The Emperor spreads his hands, and the air itself seems to darken, before a crackling cascade of Force lightning engulfs the far side of the room. Unprepared and overwhelmed by the Emperor’s power, most of the Jedi fall after only a few moments, their scorched bodies thudding limply to the floor, one by one.

But at the front edge of the storm, Serapis has caught the tongues of lightning against his blade. Teeth gritted in desperation, he tries to force ahead towards the throne, fighting to hold the Emperor’s will at bay. He gets in one step. Two steps. Three. Scourge’s gaze is rapt with attention as he observes the young Jedi’s trembling form. He has to concede - he is impressed. He’s not seen such resistance to the Emperor’s power since Revan.

Four steps. Five -

But here, in the heart of the Emperor’s fortress, the twisting torrent of the dark side is still too strong. Serapis’ hoarse scream is lost in the storm as it closes in around him, burning through his armour and clothing and into his flesh. Only steps away from Scourge, the Jedi falls to his hands and knees, and then collapses into unconsciousness. His lightsaber clatters down beside him as the sound of the tempest sucks away into ringing silence.

The Emperor’s Wrath at last rises to his feet, straightening the fall of his cape as behind him, his master surveys the singed bodies strewn across the smoking floor.

“You are mine.”

The Emperor’s voice echoes through the sanctum as it wraps itself around the fallen Jedi, seeping into the cracks of their scattered minds. Even Scourge feels the edges of his awareness crumbling, caught in the oppressive cloud of his master’s will.

”You exist only at my command. You are my instruments - servants, slaves, weapons - and you will obey.”

The last word reverberates through the chamber. Scourge has to let the weight of it pass before he can move to retrieve his lightsaber; then he strides back to face the throne, and bows deeply. Already the movement barely aggravates his injury; in a way, he wishes the pain had lasted longer.

“What is your will, my lord Emperor?”

“Take them. Train them. Turn them.” The Emperor’s reply holds such deliberate malice as he considers the Jedi. “Scatter them across my Empire and let them do my bidding.”

Scourge flicks a glance over his shoulder, at the inert form of Caspian Serapis. “And what of this particular Jedi?” he asks, and though he cannot feel the shame of defeat at the hand of a near-novice, still he lets the thought of it rise to the surface of his mind, where his master can skim it away for examination.

The Emperor turns his attention back to Scourge.

“That one I give to you, my Wrath. See that he is broken beyond all salvation. Take the Jedi’s greatest hope, and turn him into the ultimate weapon of despair. He will be unleashed upon his own kind. And they will fall.”

Excellent. That will give Scourge the time he needs to truly test what the Force has sent him.

He bows again before his master, the very embodiment of a loyal, obedient servant.

“As you command, my lord Emperor.”

But the Emperor hasn’t finished with him.

“This is your second failure in recent months, Lord Scourge. First you return without the traitor Sajar, and now you allow yourself to be overcome by two mediocre Jedi.” The Emperor lifts his hand, and Scourge finds himself forced to his knees once more, like gravity is suddenly bearing down on him from above instead of dragging from below. A rough hiss slips from between his teeth. It feels as though every piece of his body is being slowly compressed inward, his muscles flattening, his bones cracking, his vital organs threatening to burst beneath the pressure.

“Perhaps you tire of your role, after all these centuries. Perhaps you need a reminder that you live only through my gift to you.”

With his forehead nearly touching the floor at his master’s feet, Scourge knows better than to speak. Protest, resistance - they will only bring a harsher punishment. He learned long ago that the only path forward, through this half-life beside the Emperor, is submission.

And so with the skill of long, bitter practice, he bites back his primal need to scream, as the Emperor brings him back to that day when a young Sith Lord became the Wrath, and Scourge’s blood turns to fire in his veins.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #jedi knight #lord scourge #vitiate #kira carsen #sith emperor #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #swtor jedi knight #swtor:caspian #kem oc #kem writes #me and my love for writing out canon scenes and putting my own spin on them #i'm having conflicting feelings over 'a whole year!!!'#like go me for sticking to it but also why isn't it farther along lol #(because i keep writing other stuff in between that's why)

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